


Belated Arrival

by glassdemons



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Amnesiac Dragonborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassdemons/pseuds/glassdemons
Summary: Five years ago, Neloth was sent an apprentice. Today, they have finally decided to arrive at Tel Mithryn.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Belated Arrival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coolstarboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolstarboy/gifts).



When he had first seen them at those twisted rocks, Neloth had thought nothing of the Brotherhood’s armor on them--a twinge of preference towards the Morag Tong, maybe, but beyond that, he was not intimidated. They had, after all, fallen to whatever siren’s song had captured the minds of seemingly every other resident on Solstheim, though _unlike_ the others, they had come to when he called out to them. And, _especially_ unlike the others, they had decided to find him in Tel Mithryn. 

This, still, was neither impressive, nor intimidating.

He had heard that on the mainland-- _of Skyrim,_ he reminded himself, _not Morrowind_ \--this stranger before him was called Dragonborn. Some other silly superstition, some prophecy that doesn’t affect him in the slightest, and yet, he could well recall the face of the Hortator, the one who he gave his nomination to without much of a thought.

“--which is why I have come to request your help in finding the Black Book, Master Neloth,” they were saying, though Neloth wasn’t paying attention, not entirely out of malice.

He reached forward, and pulled down their mask. Their little jingly pet grabbed at his dagger behind them as they frantically pushed his hand away and pulled it back up, stumbling backwards as they, too, reached for their knife.

“Do you know how rude and how _dangerous_ it is to keep a Telvanni waiting?” he growled. “Especially when one has given you such a generous offer! And this is where you’ve been? Joining meaningless, murdering cults?”

 _“What--”_ the jester cried, making Neloth’s ears twitch.

“What are you talking about?” the Dragonborn asked, confusion clear in their eyes. “I was in this exact armor when we first met!”

Neloth was aware his mouth was agape as his brow furrowed, trying to understand what angle they were working. His jaw clenched shut and he forced his way into their energy. If they noticed, they didn’t show it or try to prevent his intrusion. 

They were, in earnest, confused. A little scared, now that they were out of their familiar territory and in a Telvanni tower, something they had never gotten to see before now.

Something they were supposed to see five years ago.

He put his hands behind his back, sizing them up. He had made no mistake. This was the one that had been sent to him so long ago.

“You refer to the tomes of esoteric knowledge that old Hermaeus Mora has scattered throughout the world?” The two outlanders shared a confused, nervous glance. “What could you possibly know of them?”

“I--I found a Black Book,” they said, clearly thrown off course by his actions. “I need to find more.”

“Found one?” he repeated, trying not to laugh. “And you read it too, didn’t you?” The Dragonborn, as they were now known, shifted their weight. “Don’t try to deny it, you’ve got the look about you. I can see it now.”

“I have to know what Miraak knows to stop him.” Their voice wavered, but did not break.

 _Finally,_ he was getting the feeling that they might impress him yet. “Now _that_ is a dangerous path, indeed. Hermeaus Mora gives nothing away for free. You could end up like Miraak--two power-hungry dragonborn.” He smiled, though there was no attempt at warmth they hadn’t earned yet. “It could be _very_ interesting.” _And I, much more involved._

\---

“Master Neloth?”

He did not look up from his book as he took a sip of his tea before replying. “Yes, Dragonborn? What is it now?”

“When I first came to Tel Mithryn, you acted like you knew who I was.”

“Of course. I live in a mushroom, not under a rock. I’ve heard of Skyrim’s heroes and silly little legends they tell themselves. Though, you did actually do something, unlike our cavern of failed incarnates, so, good for you!”

They seemed to want to criticize this, or ask more about that cave, but instead, they sighed. “No. Not just, as the Dragonborn. As… who I was.”

Deciding he couldn’t focus on his copy of one of the Black Books and answer unnecessary questions at the same time, he closed it and set it down, moving his tea out of the way in the process. “To quote our _dear_ Saint Sotha Sil,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “‘The past is not the present.’ This isn’t something you should worry about. You’ve found a place for yourself well enough on your own.”

“But--”

“You are free from the path that had been set before you,” he interrupted, forcefully. The Dragonborn seemed to puff up, like an angered cliff racer. He remembered, briefly, a much, much smaller Hortator, puffing up just the same, back when those things still plagued Vvardenfell. When there was a Vvardenfell. _Heroes. Nothing is ever well enough._

Except, the Hortator had become god and disappeared. The Dragonborn had killed god, and was standing before him. “Perhaps you have a right to know what you’ve been spared from. Fate has been more merciful to you than you know.”

They hesitated before trying again, softly. “Before Helgen, I have no idea who I was. I had to have hit my head, or--or something. I can’t remember anything, I can’t do even _basic_ magic.”

Neloth raised his hand to silence them. “You couldn’t do magic before the dragon crisis either, Aryelle.”

They froze. He sighed, shaking his head. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to give you more forbidden knowledge. You’re lucky you look enough like your mother that I could recognize you under that ridiculous getup.”

“You knew my mother,” they whispered.

“Unfortunately.” He looked across the room; it was empty, save for the two of them. “Sit, Dragonborn. I will give you your answers.”

“Who was she? Where were we from?” they asked, pulling out a chair to do as instructed. 

Neloth simply refilled his tea in answer, an action worrying enough, only made worse when he handed them the cup. “I have to decide what will hinder you the least.”

 _“Neloth,”_ they pleaded. “I want to know who I was!”

He drummed his fingers against his jaw, then tugged at his ear, thinking this over. “Yes, yes. We’ll get to that. Your family comes before you, though. Where does one begin…”

After a tense moment, he finally, _finally_ nodded. “Right. Your family came from a far-flung island on Summerset’s chain. You were to be the heir, and the one to unify the line with a more politically prominent one. Not to say you weren’t well off. You probably didn’t know spoons could be made of anything other than silver.”

They leaned forward, golden eyes stretched wide, all their focus on him. 

“There was a catch, however. Your magic is worse than even the dumbest Telvanni child. I’m sure you already know it has nothing to do with your birthsign. You’re no mage, but you’re no idiot, either.”

“The magicka potions never work,” they agreed.

“And they never will. You’re inbred. It’s a genetic defect. Not a very well documented one, sure, but it does happen, primarily in altmer, because your kind keep much purer lines than we dunmer do.”

“Oh,” they said, face scrunching up in disgust.

“Several families in one house and frequent adoption solves that problem. Never caught on in Summerset. I’m more amazed that they refuse to acknowledge the problems it causes for themselves.”

“So… why did I leave?”

Neloth tapped the table for emphasis. “That’s the catch. You were coming to find me.”

“...You?”

He weighed the pros and cons, and elected to pretend that they hadn’t taken such a tone with him. “Yes, me. As it would happen, your parents helped me during the Red Year. I’m not much one for acknowledging debts; that’s a weakness House Telvanni does not afford you. But I was…” He twists his mouth, trying to find another word, but falls short. “I was moved by their actions. And so, they sent you to me.”

“Why would my family send me alone if they were rich?”

Neloth looks them in those gold eyes and wonders if they knew the answer before they asked, but there are no clues to be found there. He elects to not probe into their thoughts and feelings.

“They did not want a disgrace to be associated with them.” The Dragonborn physically recoiled, as if trying to hide in their chair. Neloth almost understood. “You had a guard with you, who apparently died in Helgen, as far as I could tell. A cousin, or something. They went to great pains to hide your defect from the world, so it’s not as though they’d send a whole fleet. As I said, you were going to be married to someone who was your political better. His parents didn’t want you associated with _them,_ either.”

“But… But I was their child,” they whispered, staring into the quickly cooling cup of canis root tea, like it would rise up and tell them that Neloth was lying.

“Perhaps. Family means a great more on Summerset than it does in House Telvanni. They didn’t kill you outright, and they didn’t make you a servant, either. They simply convinced themselves you were going to study abroad, and that you would be safe here, with me. Should anything happen, well, that would be unfortunate, but such is the way of the world. Auriel granted them one child, and took the child from them to allow their nieces and nephews to carry the line instead.”

The Dragonborn looked as if they were going to be sick. 

“If you don’t drink that, I will.”

They shakily pulled down their mask and raised the cup to their lips. Neloth was well aware of the stream that ran down their chin, though they apparently weren’t.

“Take your time,” he said, as though that were the problem.

They slowly set the cup back down onto the table, and Neloth chose not to comment on how there was a puddle of tea on his hand crafted, custom, _absorbent_ wooden table.

“Did they… even _ask?”_

Neloth bit the inside of his cheek. His hesitation was answer enough--they put their head in their hands, slumped over onto the table. 

“Your fiance did,” he offered, which was enough to make them perk up again. “Constantly, really. I stopped answering him about two years in. While I admire his persistence, he really could have done better than just asking about dead leads.”

“What did he say?”

Another hesitation. “Dragonborn, these things don’t matter anymore. You have been allowed to choose a life for yourself, free of the repression you would have had to live in for your entire life. You have, by sheer luck, won the right to be whoever you want to be, rather than have to stay on guard for the royal courts--”

 _“What. Did. He. Say,”_ they repeated, desperate.

Neloth took a deep breath, brushing through his beard as he did so, before answering. “That he didn’t care about your flaws. That if I was hiding you from the only person who ever loved you for you, he would roast me alive and make my bones dance for your amusement.”

They almost laughed.

“It’s true, the letter is around here somewhere--”

“You kept them?”

 _Shit._ “The interesting ones, yes. If you ever decided to show up, I figured I would need a return address.”

They jumped up, nearly knocking their chair over. “Can I read them? Where are they?”

“Sit _down,_ Dragonborn,” Neloth hissed. “They are addressed to _me.”_

“But, Master Neloth, I could go home, I could--”

“You being able to shout like a nord isn’t going to impress them any more than healing your own scabs!” 

They flinched at that, staring at him with some combination of heartbreak and seething rage.

“You do not know what a gift you have. Be grateful that Akatosh had more in mind for you than checking your drink for poison!”

The Dragonborn turned on their heel and stormed off, not even slowing their step as they marched straight into the magicka to descend.

Really, he should have just let them fall and break their neck, but he didn’t. Instead, he sighed, and poured himself another cup of tea.

\---

“Hey.”

Neloth almost sighed with relief as he heard them step from the levitation tunnel onto the platform he was working on. “Hello again, Dragonborn.”

“I would like to apologize for my--”

“Forgiven.” He placed the staff in the enchanter, twirling it around to ensure it was in properly. “What do you want from me today?”

Silence.

“You have more questions?”

“I know you feel strongly about this, Master Neloth.”

“As do you.”

He heard them settle onto the floor behind him as he went about setting the runes in place. “Do you wish you weren’t Telvanni?”

He paused, then shook his head. “House Telvanni was once the second, if not _the_ most prominent House. After the Red Year--”

“You’re evading my question.”

“Your interruption could well endanger you one day.” The Dragonborn fell silent once more, and he took the opportunity to finish enchanting the staff. Finally, he turned to them. “No, I don’t wish that. I am old, and set in my ways. House Telvanni is why I am who I am. It is all I have ever known, all I ever wish to know. That is not something you were meant to understand. Like the Telvanni, you must rely on yourself. Unlike the Telvanni, you can choose to rely on others at your will.”

“You rely on your servants well enough.”

“And one day, if any of them decide to learn anything, they will kill me, and this will become their tower. Very few are the numbers of Telvanni that have advanced through work alone.”

“But I was born the Dragonborn,” they protested. “I didn’t get to choose who I am. It was chosen for me, and everything else was erased.”

“Reset. Not erased. You and your little clown are a family, aren’t you? That nice serial killer you talk about, back on the mainland. You’ve made friends doing what you want, as well as what you _had_ to. And now, you could follow in the footsteps of other great heroes, and simply disappear. The deed is done. You are free again.”

“If I was free, I wouldn’t have been attacked by cultists.”

“Periods of freedom are better than none, are they not?”

“Would I even know what freedom is? Would I even want it?”

“If you want to discuss philosophy, go find an Indoril.” Neloth picked up the staff and tossed it to them. “That said, I’ve seen plenty of slaves who know they want to be free.”

They thought on that for a moment before asking, “What is the staff for?”

“I won’t waste my time trying to teach you magic, but, if you’re going to have to fight Miraak, you might as well try to survive. This one’s free.”

They ran their gloved hand along the grain of it. “It’s a gift?”

“It’s a tool. Use it as you see fit.”

“If I used it to kill you, this would be my tower, then?”

“Yes, my dying House would recognize it as yours. As would the Redorans. Though I hear there’s a few vacant buildings in Raven Rock, if you enjoy living.”

They laughed.

\---

“So, today is the day, then?” 

A stiff wind was rolling to sea. It was a good day to travel back to the mainland. Their hood had fallen from their head, and loose strands of hair whipped into their face, too short to reach the rest of the bun, or in some cases, pulled free entirely by the wind.

“It is. Thank you, Master Neloth, for--”

He grunted, shaking his head and holding up a hand to stop them. “Don’t say that. Someone will hear you and think I’ve treated you with hospitality.”

The dragonborn’s somber face broke into a grin, as they tried not to laugh.

It wasn’t as though this wasn’t expected, really--they had a life back in Skyrim, a life of their own making, as distasteful as it might be found by those less desensitized to death and murder and structural chaos. Neloth found it almost charming that they had adopted such a life without his influence.

Still, even though Miraak was defeated, even though all of Raven Rock seemed to be better than when they arrived, he found himself thinking that the day had come too soon. He had tried to keep them occupied, even after the fact, even knowing that it was only prolonging the inevitable, but even his endless list of errands had dwindled to next to nothing of note for someone of their tier. 

“I’ll miss you,” they said, smile bittersweet as they stepped onto the pier. “I’ll miss Solstheim.”

“It’s not as though it’s going anywhere,” he scoffed. He spared a glance around, in case someone heard him being genuine. “Though it will miss you just as much. Visit at some point. Don’t make me wait another five years, or I’ll have to hunt down your Sanctuary, and that would not be a task suiting a--”

“Yes, Master Neloth.”

He rolled his eyes at them. The dragonborn leaned on the staff he had given them months ago, looking around at the settlement they’d leave behind. Behind them, their pet clown peeked over the ship’s railing. “I’ll write,” they said, turning to board the ship as well.

“At least visit once!” he called, taking his turn at hiding laughter. “Bring your husband! He sounds competent!”

“Not on your life!” they called back, as one of the deckhands worked on untying the ship.

And Neloth stood there, watching as the ship was cast off, the dragonborn waving all the while, and as they set out to sea, until it was but a speck on the horizon. He nodded to himself, turning to look at the distant silhouette of Red Mountain. “Heroes,” he muttered. “Can’t leave anything to be well enough.”

With that, leaning on his own staff a bit more than he would admit, he began the trek back to Tel Mithryn.


End file.
